


the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

by rokklagio



Series: Nemesis [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Biphobia, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, M/M, and a tiny little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokklagio/pseuds/rokklagio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it's Halloween, and it smells like musk and beers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

**Author's Note:**

> This one is set almost a year before.
> 
> Although in this story they both identify themselves as bisexual mostly, I think it's pretty clear that Courfeyrac is actually pansexual and only Jehan is bisexual (although he prefers men). I'm sorry if the talk comes off cheap, but I tried to make it as realistic as possible.

 

 

 

It was the night of Halloween, and that was noticeable enough thanks to the ridiculous amount of orange pumpkins and black bats hanging off just over the table where Jehan was sitting, scrolling through his twitter feed with his phone.

It wasn't Jehan's favourite holiday, if he had to be honest. Not because of his Catholic beliefs, but he preferred the Carnival ten times more, since it was an occasion to dress up in a more elaborate way than putting on a mask and pretending to be scary when your only purpose is to get shit-faced drunk.

Well, this was the way he always had been celebrating Halloween, and it was not-surprisingly Courfeyrac's most favourite holiday.

It seemed like they were the only two left in town (or better, they were the only ones who were in town and didn't have any mid-term exam to prepare for, unluckily for Joly and Combeferre) so they decided to celebrate on their own, dressing up as Gabriele D'Annunzio and Ermione because Jehan had been reading the Halcyon and felt inspired. He had also bought a long, wavy wig to match his nature-inspired outfit (a dress he proudly sewed himself) but, after they spent the first half of the night getting mistaken for the (wrong) Hermione and Salvador Dalì, he decided to take off his wig and let his real hair flow free on his shoulders as he waited for Courfeyrac to join him at the table.

They were in a small pub full of students, but it wasn't that hard to spot Courfeyrac and his glorious, fake moustache making his way with a pint of beer in each hand and excusing himself as he almost knocked down a pair of foreign girls.

Jehan shrugged off one of the dusty paper bats from his shoulder (he hoped he didn't have any dust left on the dress) and put his phone away in his bag as Courfeyrac placed their beers on the table.

“So, he contacted me on PlanetRomeo-” the taller boy began, but Jehan snorted loudly.

“You have an account on PlanetRomeo?”

“Listen, gaybars are shit when you want to hook up these days. It seems like everybody is straight and you're a creep.”

He wiped absent-mindedly the spilled foam off his glass. “Well, you have a point there.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac crossed his arms and leant closer, the moustache still standing proudly above his lips. “So, we agreed to meet on Friday, right after my shift.”

The smaller boy nodded while sipping his beer. “Ok.”

“We meet in this fancy bar down town with, you know, the top 40 playing and all that. I didn't mind it though,” he tells, waving a hand over his beer. Courfeyrac was quite pretentious when it came to music tastes - Jehan still remembered how his friend once wrinkled his nose before his iPod playlist, not even trying to hide his disgust.

“Alright.”

“The guy was shorter than he looked on his profile, and had crooked teeth, which surprised me since he said he was a dentist. I mean, I don't mind crooked teeth, but I wasn't expecting that, you know?”

Jehan snorted at that. “Well, it's not like you have to be that demanding for a single hook up.”

His friend nodded. “I know. I wasn't complaining. I was just describing the guy.”

He dismissed him with a hand. “Ok, ok, I get it. Go on.”

He knew the conversation was going to get interesting as Courfeyrac shifted more comfortably in his place and a wicked smile appeared on his lips.

“So, we ordered a bottle of white and started chatting. After half an hour he says he was going on vacation to Lisboa for a week.”

Portugal was one of those places Jehan had loved the most, but on Courfeyrac's lips the topic sounded a bit trivial, so he began to worry that this was going to be one of those endless, Courfeyrac's stories, where he was about to tell you every detail of the night without getting to the point.

“Uhm,” he nodded, “what about it?”

“Well, I mentioned I've been there last summer with Leticia, because she was Portuguese. Do you remember Leticia?”

Of course he did.

“The Psychology major? Yeah.”

Or better, the psycho bitch who crashed Jehan's poetry readings just to sentence that his poems suggested he got abused as a child. Everyone was more than glad when Courfeyrac broke with her after five months of pure terror and invasive questions.

“Ok,” Courfeyrac finally drank some of his previously untouched beer and resumed his narration, “well, I made the mistake to refer to her as my ex-girlfriend and next thing I know the guy totally flips out.”

Jehan raised his eyebrows. “Oh, wow. My god. Why?”

He wondered if Courfeyrac had ever considered the possibility that PlanetRomeo was also a perfect den for psychopaths, but his friend seemed amused.

“You should've been there, Jean!” he then proceeded to give his best impression of the stranger by raising his voice an octave higher.

“'But you said you came out when you were sixteen!' and I was like 'yeah that I did, why' and then he started freaking out!”

Jehan was staring at Courfeyrac and he didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, as he was pretty sure to know where this was going.

His friend started talking once again with his nasal voice.

“He said 'then what does it mean 'ex-girlfriend', didn't you accept yourself right away' and I said 'dude, I'm bisexual' and he gave me the weirdest and most disappointed look ever. Even Enjolras couldn't stand a chance.”

“Are you kidding me? What a prick! What did he say?”

“He said he had to go, and that he didn't date bisexual guys. As if I wanted that. I just wanted to fuck anyway.”

He stared bitterly at the glass before gulping down his drink.

They weren't often exposed to this kind of blatant shaming, especially if Enjolras was around (he wanted to advocate for every sexual orientation known to human kind and he still couldn't figure out his own) but that was almost bound to happen whenever they decided to hang out with people outside the Musain. And Courfeyrac wasn't bisexual, not really. He would have fucked almost everything that had a hole and breathed if he had the opportunity.

And Jehan wasn't really sure about the breathing part.

“Well, you should take advantage of the fact that it's Saturday night and we're in a crowded bar full of drunk students. I would consider it.”

Courfeyrac seemed to be cheerlessly amused by Jehan's suggestion. He started playing with his almost empty pint glass and whispered tipsily.

“I don't think I'll get any luck tonight. You, however, are the attraction of the guy over there.” He nodded somewhere behind Jehan and nonchalantly finished his beer. The poet turned around to check.

He was used to people looking at him, but that was mostly because of his clothes – rarely because of his looks. Courfeyrac knew him long enough to recognize when someone was about to make fun of him or if they were genuinely interested, so he couldn't help being curious.

“Is he the one with the mohawk?”

“Wow. Great job at being stealthy, really.”

The poet repeatedly turned around to check out his admirer (he was drinking with another man but his eyes were definitely on Jehan) and decided he didn't look too bad – even though he had some kind of Billy Ray Cyrus vibe on him.

“He looks like Billy Ray Cyrus, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, a bit. Are you going to fuck Hannah Montana's dad?”

“I don't know. I could. But I don't feel like to. I think he might be forty.”

“When did that stop you?”

His jaw dropped, outraged. “Wow, _fuck you_. I think I'm going home.”

He made to get up, but Courfeyrac blocked him in his place when he shot him an obvious apprehensive stare.

“What? You said you would be keeping me company!”

He probably noticed that he sounded pretty desperate, so he tried to joke.

“Don't leave me heartbroken in a bar full of pervs, please?"

Jehan laughed.

“Look who's talking. Really Courf, I'd love to stay but it's getting late and there's the strike until tomorrow night.”

His flat wasn't anywhere near the pub, he realized, and checked his phone hoping it wasn't too late already. Courfeyrac seemed to be more concerned about his own situation, although he seemed to have come down to a compromise before speaking again.

“But my place is next to the Biblioteque, you can crash there. It's 10 minutes walking, c'mon.”

Jehan raised one eyebrow.

“Are you really begging me to spend the night on your hard-as-concrete couch? I've got to be honest: it's not that inviting.”

“Wrong. You're a very lucky fella, because Marius is in Vernon and- wait, I think there's only 'Ferre home, so you could even snuggle in Enjolras' room.”

He sat back down, slowly.

“Something tells me the couch would be softer. Why is Marius in Vernon anyway?”

“I think he has some relatives there – I don't know, the kid is pretty reserved.”

“Is he doing okay?”

Courfeyrac's face suddenly lightened up. It was pretty clear that he liked the kid, even though nobody knew much about him.

“Yeah! He's translating articles for an online magazine, he knows English but he had to take German classes in order to get the job– wait, I'm gonna buy us another beer. Wait here and try not to flirt with Billy Ray Cyrus over there.”

“You can't tell me what to do!”

 

He relaxed against the wall and contemplated as the colours of the dim strobe lights highlighted the curls of Courfeyrac's brown hair with a lazy shade of purple. He noticed just now how tall he was, how he over-towered the guy behind the bar when he leant over to ask for their drinks.

Courfeyrac was very good-looking and easy-going, and yet the poor guy was extremely unfortunate in love, way more than Bossuet (well, Jehan's love life was at his darkest, most lifeless point in his life, but that was besides the point).

He tried not to look at Hannah Montana's dad’s direction and concentrated on the empty glass pint instead. He realized that it was the first time he went out with Courfeyrac alone: they did hang out together, but never without someone else tagging along. Also, they were discussing relationships, which is a topic Jehan loves and hates profoundly.

He had never had a serious relationship to begin with. Because a relationship was the main cause of a ruined love, and Jehan knew he idealized love too much to bear disillusion. So he fell in love with everyone, because he had discovered that everyone had something worth loving, and yet the whole idea of being loved back and let that rot (because that was bound to happen anyway, right?) scared him.

So he took his time to examine bright, hardly-ever disgruntled Courfeyrac, who fell in relationships almost twice a month, the boy who costantly created links between him and others, because he didn't exist as a solitary monad but found survival in the validation of his being with strangers, friends, lovers.

 

He came back and placed not-so carefully their beers on the table and smiled. His eyes were spacing a bit so Jehan leant over to pick his beer.

“Ah, sorry,” Courfeyrac sat down and hid his face in his hands, “I can't get that asshole out of my head.”

“Let's not think about it now. We have a long night ahead.” Jehan smiled to his friend and began to drink. “So, little Marius is in Vernon, what about Enjolras?”

“He's in Lyon- I think he won't be back until next week anyway.”

“Please don't tell me he's there because of the railway thing.”

“Yep. And I'm sure that the railway thing will probably involve the rest of us soon. And you speak Italian! Enjolras is going to chap your balls off if you don't go.”

He sighed, defeated.

“He's gonna get us all killed someday.”

“Look at the bright side: you could find yourself a beautiful, Sicilian moustached man who could take you anywhere. I would consider it.” he suggested, and caressed his own fake moustache to prove his point.

Jehan smiled to his drink.

“Yeah, well. Billy Ray Cyrus wouldn't be too happy.”

“You're right. Stop being such a whore, sleeping around with nice guys. And girls. God, we can't really keep our hands off the whole world population, can we.”

“I know, right? We're just so confused and closeted.”

“Yeah. Such cowards!”

“Also, let's not fall in love with the people we fuck- it seems like it's inevitable.”

“Oh my god I forgot that,” Courfeyrac raised his beer in the air and happily shouted, “let's not flirt, fuck and fall in love with whatever walks!”

Jehan promptly followed him. “Amen!”

“Cheers!”

 

They drank their beers in one go.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They ended up drinking three beers each and went for some tequila shots with a group of American girls. They didn't know a word of French, Jehan's English was awful and Courfeyrac wasn't any better- but that hardly mattered, they were almost too drunk to realize what they were saying.

They left the pub with Courfeyrac hanging on Jehan's shoulder, who wasn't any less drunk, but still had the ability to recognize the street and walk them both home.

 

Only when they entered the building and got inside the lift Jehan could shrug Courfeyrac's weight off his shoulder to check his phone. It was way past 3 AM and he had two unread messages from Grantaire.

 

_why did i tell bahorel i liked raves i think my eyes are gonna fall off_

_-R_

 

_i'm not even sure we're still in france_

_-R_

 

He tried to type a quick reply before they had to get out the lift. At least Courfeyrac looked less drunk than he was half an hour before.

 

_You didn't take anything did you? Be safe x_

_-J_

 

The doors finally opened on their floor and Courfeyrac went straight to his door, as if he had sobered up in the meanwhile and could master the coordination of his limbs like a trooper.

Ok, Jehan wasn't really sure about that, because his friend started to ring the doorbell compulsively, as if he had forgotten it the fact that it was incredibly late and they were probably the only ones awake, wandering around the building like madmen.

He ran to slap his friend's hand off the buzzer and glared him as if he had grown out a second head from his neck.

“Are you out of your mind?! What if Combeferre is sleeping?” he tried to chastise him without shouting and didn't succeed- he wasn't aware of the sound of his voice when he was drunk.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“Yeah but I don't have my keys, so...” and he kept on ringing. Jehan sighed and didn't argue.

His phone buzzed a bunch of seconds later.

 

_Im takin whatever bahorels takin -R_

 

Then another message followed.

 

_Tkt, im playin safe. Biz – R_

 

Jehan stared worriedly at his phone screen, reading the message over and over again. The whole idea of being unable to check on his (alcoholic, depressed and almost suicidal) best friend made his heart race inside his chest. He didn't like being this far from Grantaire, especially when he was God-knows-where with Bahorel (and, as much as he loved the man, he wasn't the best company to have around).

He lifted his eyes off the screen and was startled to find Courfeyrac's face so close to his own, so much that he could feel his breath just below his ear.

(He pretended he didn't feel like his cheeks were on fire).

“Is that R? Tell him he's a traitor, and Bahorel sucks balls.”

He smelled strongly of all the beers they had, but the alcohol couldn’t cover the musky scent his skin gave off.

The stairs were cold and silent, white with the dim neon-light shining above their heads, which gave the whole building an alienating atmosphere. He felt himself shiver as Courfeyrac spoke, but he blamed the alcohol and shrugged those thoughts off his mind, because they weren't appropriate thoughts, were they?

He broke their reciprocal stare by stepping back to hide his phone from his friend's predatory hands.

“It's none of your business,” Jehan pointed at the door, “so? Are we sure Combeferre is home? Did he tell you he was going to stay home tonight?”

Courfeyrac took some seconds to think it over.

“Uhm, well, no. I supposed he wasn't going anywhere since he had to-”

Jehan widened his eyes.

“Oh, wow! Great! And you didn't bring your keys with you. Fantastic.”

“I thought 'Ferre was gonna stay home!” Courfeyrac shouted back and Jehan hoped he wasn't going to panic. He felt a possible anxiety attack pocking on his shoulder.

But then Courfeyrac dropped on his knees and Jehan almost cried out in shock.

“Oh my God! Courfeyrac! Are you okay?” he got on his knees to check on his friend, but he noticed just a moment later that the other man had one of his hands under the doormat.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but Courfeyrac looked like he wasn't listening to a word his friend had been saying.

“Hah! There you go,” he shouted, triumphant and finally took out a pair of keys. Looking at the stormtrooper key chain hanging on them, Jehan guessed they were definitely Courfeyrac's.

“You're lucky you live with Combeferre.”

“I know right?”

  
  


Courfeyrac switched the lights on and Jehan stripped off of his coat and left his bag on the couch. Jehan knew that apartment well enough, since it had been the stage of many of their encounters, as well of some fights, between the whole gang.

 

“I'm going to make us some coffee first,” he informed Courfeyrac as he headed towards the kitchen, although he didn't receive any answer. He heard a door shut closed so he figured the man went straight to the bathroom. 

He took out the coffee from the cupboard, switched the coffee machine on and then sat on the kitchen table and started typing a message to Bahorel as he waited for the coffee to pour out.

 

_Can u please make sure R doesnt wander off in the woods? merci_

_-J_

 

He knew he must have sounded like some worried mother- Grantaire was old enough to make his own decisions- but he knew as well that, when alcohol or drugs were involved, his best friend wasn't inclined to make very good ones.

Bahorel's reply came (surprisingly enough) just a minute later.

 

_Hes here with me. Fell asleep. A+ ♥_

 

And a heart. Typical of Bahorel.

 

He heard some steps echoing from the living room and lifted his head from his phone only to watch Courfeyrac wander in the kitchen.

“I'm making coffee. Are you okay?" 

The taller man nodded distractedly, as if he had something more important on his mind to consider. He stepped in front of Jehan and whispered.

“Yeah, I'm... I'm okay.”

But when Courfeyrac's green eyes met his worried stare, Jehan felt his own heart skip a beat.

“I think it's almost don-”

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Courfeyrac slammed his hands on both sides of the table and leant over to assault Jehan's lips in a strong, breath-taking kiss.

“Courf-” he hurried his hands on the taller man's shoulders to get him off, but he heard Courfeyrac sigh softly against his cheek.

“Please? Let me...”

He didn't know what to reply. He wasn't even sure if he wanted this, but when Courfeyrac's hand caught his jaw and kissed him again- it was one of the messiest kisses he had ever shared, with their noses bumping against each other and their teeth scraping lips and tongues licking the corner of their mouths- the words suddenly died in his throat.

He widened his legs, making his dress ride up on his thighs to allow Courfeyrac to step right between them, while he rubbed his hips against Jehan's crotch and made the smaller boy release soft, incoherent sighs. He lifted his legs higher so he could feel Courfeyrac's clothed hard cock rub against the thight space between his balls and his ass.

He felt Courfeyrac's mouth first on his lips, then on his chin, neck and when he started sucking on his collarbone he gripped on Courfeyrac's white shirt and tore it wide open, making the buttons fall all over the kitchen floor.

“Hey! My shirt!” Courfeyrac tried to argue between kisses, and Jehan found himself breathless, as if his brain had dried off of every content.

 

Fuck the shirt.

 

He wanted more. He wanted Courfeyrac to take him right there, on the kitchen table. He wanted Courfeyrac to ravish him until he wasn't going to be able to walk for weeks.

 

He was scared of how much he wanted it to happen.

 

His hands slipped shyly between their chests and he ripped his black tights open, not caring for a second that he was ruining his own hand-made pieces.

He didn't know why he was losing control: if it was the fact that Courfeyrac was curled up all over Jehan because of their height difference, or the feeling of the other man's curls falling over Jehan's own forehead, before going down and tickle his chin. He didn't know the reason, he just knew he was feeling himself melt under the younger man's touch.

Courfeyrac seemed to love the way Jehan was opening before him: he showed his fondness by caressing his thighs and guiding them even wider.

“Jean, God...” he moaned against Jehan's lips, making the smaller boy squirm under his chest. He slipped his hands below his friend's shirt and couldn't help but claw the soft skin under his nails.

He felt fingers stroking his cock through the fabric of his underwear, outlining the shape of his balls before moving the piece of cloth aside and slipping them over the tight space between his ass cheeks, making him curl his toes at the feeling.

 

He didn't expect the first finger.

 

He didn't expect any of this to go that far.

 

He would have been blatantly lying if he said it didn't hurt. He was waiting for Courfeyrac to realize the mistake they were making, to tell Jehan to go to bed and then walk away.

And he would have lied if he said he wasn't enjoying Courfeyrac's attentions, so he tried to relax so that none of this could come to an end. 

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” Courfeyrac asked, as he ripped Jehan open with two more fingers, moving them in a sloppy pace. He was laying on his back and his legs were hanging obscenely open at Courfeyrac's sides. He caressed lazily one of his friend's hips with his left heel and shook his head to assure him that he was, in fact, enjoying every second of it. He occasionally curled his back when the other boy played with his cock.

Jehan stretched out one of his hands and started unbuttoning Courfeyrac's elegant trousers. He smiled as he let his fingers wander tiredly on the soft fabric, as if he was admiring it, but the other man got the hint and promptly took them off.

He stared dazed at Courfeyrac's cock: it was long and lean and the top was poking impatient against Jehan's hip, so he closed his fingers around the shaft and started to stroke it slowly.

He provoked exquisite sounds out of Courfeyrac's mouth, he thought, and he wanted to hear more. He leant on his side and motioned Courfeyrac to step closer, which the boy did as soon as he felt the nails gently scraping his thigh for attention.

He started sucking on Courfeyrac's cock as the taller man prepared him, thrusting and scissoring his fingers and filling the air with frantic moans. He had to stop when Jehan relaxed his throat and almost swallowed him whole.

“Christ- Jean, please...”

He sucked on the leaking tip fondly, but when he felt Courfeyrac's hips hasten their pace he blocked him right away with a hand and left one last, adoring kiss on his cock.

“Not yet. I want you to fuck me.”

 

He didn't expect his words to sound that desperate.

 

Courfeyrac sank his fingers violently on his hipbones and yanked him almost off the table edge.

Jehan was going to protest, but the other man cut off the air from his lungs as he started to penetrate him, and not gently while doing so. 

He waited for Jehan to relax completely and adjust himself to the new intrusion before slipping his cock out and ram it back in, soliciting a loud moan from Jehan's lips.

He couldn't take his eyes off Courfeyrac: he still had his white shirt on but a faint trail of hair was showing just above his groin, painting his skin of a shade darker.

He arched his back and showed Courfeyrac that he was loving being fucked: he crossed his legs behind his back, sank his heels in Courfeyrac's ass cheeks and let his hand wander against the lean abdomen of the taller man.

 

He loved this. He loved the feeling of his sweaty skin against his fingertips, he loved the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and he couldn't fathom how much he was starting to love the way Courfeyrac's eyes were eating him alive. 

He felt warm, long fingers closing stroking his cock and sharp teeth scraping his neck in a fast, blissful rhythm. He closed his eyes and pulled on those sweet, brown curls.

“Ha-harder, please-” he managed to choke out before Courfeyrac's hips started rocking him almost off the table. Afraid of falling off, he tightened his grip on Courfeyrac's shoulders and tied his leg behind his back, moaning shamelessly as the other man hit his sweet spot over and over again.

  
  
  
  
  


When he began to open his eyes the kitchen was absorbed in soft daylight, and the only noises he could hear were the chirping of the birds and the car horns blasting right under the window.

He rolled over his side to lift the covers over his shoulder, but those weren't his covers, and he wasn't in his bed.

 

He sat up and realized he was on the floor of Courfeyrac's kitchen, and there was nobody else around. He stood up and tried to cover himself with the blanket, only to find out it was actually Courfeyrac's jacket.

 

As he put it on, the tip of his nose brushed against one of the sleeves.

It smelled like musk and beers.

 

“Oh, you're up! Perfect.”

 

Courfeyrac was standing by the kitchen's door with his hair dripping wet against his neck and a single white towel covering his most private parts.

Jehan tried to look elsewhere.

The taller man cleared his voice.

 

“I’m making some coffee- we, uhm, we burned the one we made yesterday- so...”

“Can I use your bathroom?” Jehan choked out before the other could finish his sentence. Courfeyrac looked a bit startled but he didn't fail to deliver a bright smile to his friend.

“Of course. You can shower, if you want.”

“Thank you,” Jehan whispered as he quickly walked out of the room.

  
  


When he was inside (and sure that the bathroom door was locked) he sat down on the cold floor and curled against the door before breathing a heavy, shaky sigh.

  


The fool fell in love, and he knew there was no going back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> About the railway thing: they're talking about the Turin-Lyon high-speed railway project, which is currently an open topic. I suggest you to google it if you don't know what I'm talking about. :)
> 
> Some of the texts contain french abbreviations (I'm a sucker for those!), which roughly stand for:
> 
> Tkt: ne t'enquiete pas (don't worry)  
> Biz: bises (xoxo)  
> A+: à plus tard (see you later)
> 
> Title comes from Arctic Monkeys' "Do I Wanna Know" (obviously!)


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